


Moonshine

by thedarkpoet



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol, Jazz Age, Law Enforcement, M/M, Speakeasies, fair game, fairgameweekend2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkpoet/pseuds/thedarkpoet
Summary: The Cheat's Confessional is not the kind of place you find by accident. You can spend every night out on the town and never even hear its name. But once you do, you'll find the Confessional has a magnetism that few can ignore. People speak of it in whispers; the rumours say that once you're in, no other speakeasy can compare.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Moonshine

The Cheat's Confessional is not the kind of place you find by accident. You can spend every night out on the town and never even hear its name. But once you do, you'll find the Confessional has a magnetism that few can ignore. People speak of it in whispers; the rumours say that once you're in, no other speakeasy can compare.

Getting in: that's the challenge. The Confessional thrives on secrecy. You can't just walk through their door, even if you knew where to find it; you have to be recruited. And the recruiters are very good. In its six years of operation, it hasn't been busted once.

Maybe that says more about the Bureau of Prohibition than it does about the Cheat's Confessional. I'm probably biased: I was an agent - a beetle, as they called us in the clubs, on account of our helmets. If you've ever gone out for a drink, you know what the Bureau's like, so I'll let you decide which way my bias runs.

Not that I want to give you the wrong impression. I was a good agent. The Bureau might not offer much in the way of instruction, but I ran dozens of successful raids in my day. It made me pretty unpopular, but the way I saw it, those places were knowingly circumventing the law. All the clubs know they're running on borrowed time. If you want my opinion, that sense of urgency is why all the dancing is so fast these days. Any moment could be the one the beetles coming knocking.

But not at the Confessional.

I first learned about the place on my first night out with the Bureau. I'd applied earlier that same day - they were always looking for more bodies, and I'd only just arrived in the city; I needed the money. When I showed up at the station that night, Captain Donato dropped a helmet on my head and slapped a truncheon in my hand.

"Anyone tries to run," he said, nodding to the truncheon, "you make sure they can't run anymore."

That sentence was the full extent of my training, and the evening didn't get better from there. We piled into the Bureau's van and careered over to the docks, the captain screeching at the driver the entire way. I ended up squashed into the back seat, where one of the other beetles was loading his gun.

 _Beetles_ \- listen to me, I sound just like him. I meant agents. One of the other agents was cleaning his gun.

I'd seen enough guns in the war to know that the piece was in pretty shoddy shape. But the way this guy was holding it - like it was his child. The whole thing made my skin crawl. I remember wanting to get out of the van, but we were crammed in like sardines. When we finally pulled up outside Alonso's, I was sweating buckets and the agent had unloaded and reloaded his gun a dozen times.

We beat feet on the cement, hammering down the stairs two at a time. Alonso's never knew what hit it.

This place wasn't like the flash speakeasies the rich and famous frequent. It was a wet hole in the ground, slinging moonshine to unemployed schmucks down to their last nickel. But you better believe they scattered like pigeons when Donato kicked down the door. It was utter chaos, everyone yelling and screaming, and all of us agents wading in with our batons. The guy with the gun had a gleam in his eye that I didn't like, so when the bartender hightailed it for the back door, I went after her. No sooner had the door closed behind me when I heard shots coming from the bar.

The bartender was long gone; she must have done this race a dozen times. But I was certainly in no hurry to go back inside; no one else had come through the back door, and an eerie silence had fallen in the street as word of our raid spread up and down the docks.

When I finally pushed the door open, I was greeted by bloody carnage. The guy with the gun had shot three people, and they lay where they'd fallen, bleeding out into the dirt. He was still cradling his gun like it was something precious, and he was laughing.

The scene made me sick to my stomach, but it must have been pretty common; the other agents were ignoring the laughing guy in favour of grabbing all the bathtub gin they could get their hands on. I'd known the Bureau was meant to confiscate any illegal liquor, but my comrades looked less like they were cataloguing evidence and more like they were bolstering private collections. Only Captain Donato seemed interested in doing any investigation: he had one of the patrons up against the bar, his hand fisted in her collar. I wasn't in a hurry to see more death, so I got on over there to get a read on the situation. The woman saw me coming and spat on the floor before the captain wrenched her back to face him.

"What's the matter, Nicky?" she demanded. "Didn't get paid enough this week?"

The captain shook her, and her head lolled on her shoulders.

"You're a special gal, Maria," he hissed. "I know you don't want to take a trip downtown. Just tell me who's supplying this place."

"What, so you can squeeze them too?" Donato was holding too tight; her voice was coming in little puffs. "Like hell."

"Captain," I said, and he rounded on me so fast I took a step back. The laughing guy let out a shrieking giggle, and the captain snapped "Shut up, Callows!" over his shoulder.

Maria was laughing too, a kind of broken chuckle.

"Poor Nicky," she said. "You can't do anything right."

Donato shook her again and she started wheezing. I pushed my way between them. The captain scowled at me, but he let her go and she collapsed against the bar. As Donato stomped off to berate Callows, I helped her to her feet.

"My hero," she grunted.

The captain was howling at Callows behind us, but she didn't seem to care.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

She laughed again. "Ma'am?" she echoed. "Ain't nobody's ma'am." Her eyes were sharp as steel. "You're new," she said decisively. It looked like she would have said more, but in the next moment we were both deaf. Callows had fired his gun again; it was smoking in his hand as he stared down at Donato's corpse.

Well I wasn't about to hang around to see who he'd shoot next. I booked it for the back door, Maria hot on my heels.

I got there first - Maria was spry for an older gal, but the captain had knocked her around pretty good. I held the door open for her and she bolted through. Callows still hadn't stopped laughing.

I expected Maria to scarper immediately, but at the mouth of the alley she paused and looked back at me.

"You ever get tired of this work," she said, "you come find me at the Confessional."

That was how she said it, with a capital 'C'. I knew she wasn't talking about no church.

Before I could ask her what she meant, she turned and vanished into the night.

The other agents had all scattered, and when I got back out front, the Bureau's van was gone. There was no way I was going back into Alonso's to see what Callows was doing. I took the long walk back to the station by myself.

I damn near left the Bureau that very night.

Ah - pardon my French, ma'am. It had been a very trying evening.

Anyway, money or not, I wanted to quit, but Donato's death shook up the ranks, and I ended up reassigned to Captain Ironwood.

Ironwood - he actually believed in what the Bureau is doing. I know people think the beetles are crooked, but Ironwood was as clean as they come. All he wanted is to uphold the law.

Raids with Ironwood in charge were still chaotic, but we never left bodies on the floor. Ironwood had the kind of leadership that Donato had never even passed in the street. No one wanted to disappoint him, least of all me.

But I couldn't stop thinking about what Maria had said. I decided that it couldn't hurt to ask around, and try and find out what this Confessional place was.

After a few months with Ironwood, I'd done my share of plainclothes work, and sometimes I'd even been a convincing boozehound, despite never drinking a drop myself. But I was never pegged as a beetle faster than when I started trying to investigate the Confessional. It was like everyone knew not to talk about it, like someone had passed a big contract around. Asking the wrong person about the Confessional was enough to get you thrown out of a club - or worse.

The secrecy only made me more curious. I found myself going deeper undercover, chasing down hints about the place. Ironwood was starting to get worried, but when I explained that I was following a lead, he let me be. I'd done good work, and he trusted me.

But the Confessional was beginning to eat away at my mind - the scant whispers I'd collected made the place seem impossible: a paradise on Earth. It was a far cry from my shoebox apartment, which I returned to only to sleep and seal up the money I mailed my mother. I imagined chandeliers dripping with crystal, and open bottles of champagne on every dainty table. There would be a balcony ringing the dance floor, where sophisticated folks could smoke and look down at the revelry below. The band would play from dusk till dawn, and I'd dance until I couldn't feel my feet.

Yeah, I wanted to go there. Wouldn't you? It was the height of winter, the city wet and cold and miserable. My hands hadn't been properly warm in three months.

So I'll admit it - I got desperate. I'd built up a pretty solid network of sources by then, stool-pigeons just waiting to squawk. I'd avoided leaning on them about the Confessional. The network was for the Bureau, and the Confessional...it had felt too private. But I wasn't turning up any other leads, and everyone I asked about it seemed to know I was a beetle anyway.

My best source was a guy they call Roman Torchwick. He knew how to give the Bureau just enough information to keep us happy, while still leaving himself somewhere to spend his money that night. If anyone knew how to find the Confessional, it would be him. But when I asked him about it, he nearly laughed me out of the bar.

"You're serious," he said, when he'd finally stopped laughing. "Ebi, there is no way you're getting anywhere close to the Confessional. I've never even been there - God's truth."

"But don't you want to?" I asked, sipping my seltzer water.

"It always sounded snooty to me," Torchwick replied. "Besides, just sharing this drink with you is enough to disqualify me for life."

"They can't keep track of every possible leak."

Torchwick shrugged. "They certainly seem to - no one knows who owns the place, and even their supplier is a mystery. Do you know how rare that is in this town?"

I stretched my arms across the bar and tried not to look as hopeless as I felt. "Torchwick. You gotta know something."

Torchwick shrugged again, one shoulder then the other.

"Ok, but whatever I tell you, you did not hear it from me."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"I'm serious, Ebi." And he was too; it was the first time I'd seen him without his smirk. I nodded, and he cupped his hands around his drink.

"I've heard," he said slowly, "that they pick up the best dancers from the Kiwi - no guarantees, but they say that's where people get their invitations."

I hadn't been to the Kiwi Club in my search - it was a pretty high end place, well protected by its private security. I wasn't sure I even owned a suit nice enough to get inside.

Torchwick could tell I was thinking about going.

"Ebi, if you're gonna do this, let me give you some advice," he said. "No beetle has ever gotten near the Confessional. You want in, you're gonna have to get real. None of this seltzer water bullshit."

I wouldn’t normally swear, ma'am, but that's the word he used.

Well, I figured I wasn't going to be able to take Torchwick's advice. Sacrificing the Bureau job wasn't a line I was ready to cross. But at least I had a lead.

The Kiwi Club got fairly regular raids, but it was one of those places where the staff was warned before it happened. I wouldn't be getting any reliable information if I went in with the Bureau. I'd just have to hope my cover was good enough to pass muster.

For the first time in my career at the Bureau, I asked Ironwood for an advance. Last month's check had already been parceled into rent and the letter to my mother, and I needed scratch for a suit. I found one I thought was nice enough not to be remarkable in either direction and even paid extra for the tailor to let out the shoulders a little. It was the best fitting suit I'd ever owned.

I hung it up in my closet and spent a week looking at it before I finally decided to go to the Kiwi. I had no money for the train, so I took the shivery walk across town.

By the time I arrived, the Kiwi was in full swing. You could feel the band through the sidewalk. As I reached the door, a flash car pulled up to the curb, slinging slush across my arm. A stylish-looking man stepped out, all white hair and teeth. His suit would have blown mine out of the water even before he'd splashed mine with his car. As I tried to wring out my coat sleeve, he stepped into the club without a backward glance.

So the evening wasn't off to a great start, but I'd come this far, and if I turned back all I had to look forward to was a cold wet walk to my apartment. I paid the cover charge and walked into the Kiwi for the very first time.

It really was a fancy place, dim and smoky but with an unmistakable air of sophistication. The dance floor was a raised stage that jutted out into the sea of little tables where folks were talking and drinking, the band perched on a balcony up above. Everyone looked sharp; even the staff was wearing uniforms, and a scrawny kid with an optimistic attempt at a moustache came to take my coat. He lingered for a tip, at which point I realized I'd left my wallet in my coat pocket. By the time I'd extricated it and shoved some money at him, there was a line of impatient folks piling up behind me, and I hastily made my way to the bar.

It was hard to tell in the shadows of the club, but the damage to my suit didn't seem too bad. I folded my arm over the stain, and took up a spot at the end of the bar, settling in to watch the dancers. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for: I still had no idea how the Confessional handed out its coveted summons. But it was a joy just to be watching the dancing; I couldn't believe how fast they were. I would have given anyone on that stage an invitation.

I got caught up in following the steps of a particularly fast dance, and didn't notice the dame approaching me until she was already at my elbow.

"Shame to see a handsome fella like you standing all alone," she purred. Her dark hair was coiled into a bob, and her brown skin was glowing in the light of the lamps sitting on the bar.

"I'm, uh, waiting for someone," I told her, and she laughed, clear and bright like a bell.

"Honey, you ain't looked at the door since you came in," she replied.

I've been told I can be pretty stubborn when I want to be, and maybe she saw that in my face, because she smiled.

"Look, you can wait here alone, but it sure seems like you'd rather be waiting on the dance floor."

"I don't even know your name," I pointed out.

"Sugar, that's easy!" She stuck out her hand, the beading on her dress twinkling like stars. "I'm Mattie."

I took her hand in mine, and she shook it firmly. "...Shamrock," I said, and she chuckled.

"Whatever you say, sugar."

She towed me away from the bar, trotting easily up the steps to the dance floor.

And it turned out that no amount of watching could have prepared me to actually dance. After my first fumbled steps, Mattie took the lead, guiding me with her hand on my waist as her feet stepped lightly around mine. She was a natural, moving with the music like it was flowing through her veins. I'm sure I looked like a complete boor next to her, but I had never felt more alive than I did on that dance floor.

By the time the band finally stopped, Mattie was breathless with laughter.

"I shoulda taken you out for a slow one first, but I didn't want to scare you off."

"Sorry," I said, feeling sheepish.

"You'll get the hang of it," she said, and this time her smile was real. "You keep up the practice, and next time I see you we'll have a proper dance."

I was determined that we would. I certainly owed her for all my toe-crushing missteps. And what better way to keep an eye on the dance floor than being among the dancers myself?

So I went back to the Kiwi the next night. It gave me a shadow of the feeling I imagined that the Confessional must instill. I danced with anyone who asked me, and eventually I got good enough to ask others, trying to pay forward what Mattie had done for me. She only came to the Kiwi once a week or so, but she always made time for one dance with me. I began to worry she might start wanting more than dancing, until the night I arrived early enough to see her walk through the door arm in arm with another girl, pressed closer than sisters. That girl always got Mattie's first dance, but I often got the second. After a few weeks of practice, I finally felt like I could keep up with her.

I tried not to let the dancing become too distracting. But despite visiting the Kiwi nearly every day, I was no closer to seeing any hint of the Confessional. I didn't dare ask anyone about it - no one seemed to have flagged me as a beetle yet, but my cover wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny. And I was starting to run into cash flow problems. Even without buying myself drinks, a visit to the Kiwi wasn't cheap.

Worse still, I was losing focus at the Bureau, and twice I ended up in the Kiwi on the night of a raid. I managed to get out both times, but it was a little too close for comfort. And yet I found I couldn't stay away. Every time I went to the Kiwi, I was sure it would be the night I would finally find some clue about the Confessional, and the dancing made me feel like I was flying. I began staying later and later, sleeping through the morning so I could make it to the Bureau in the afternoon.

I thought I was holding things together pretty well, all things considered. But not everyone agreed.

I was late on Ms. Perkin's rent by a week, and decided I should skip the club for a few days. And I did, but next month I was late again, and I had to ask Ironwood for another advance. I missed seeing Mattie that week, and the next she was frosty until I plied her with enough drinks to persuade her to dance with me again. It was a blistering foxtrot, and my feet felt bruised by the end of it. It wasn't until I stepped in a puddle on the way home that I realized I'd worn a hole straight through the bottom of my shoe.

The moon had just kissed the horizon as I reached the front door of my lodging house. From the sound of it, Ms. Perkins was already bustling about in the kitchen. I had no energy for breakfast that day, so I snuck past as quietly as I could, planning to collapse on my bed.

But when I pushed open my door, I was not alone. Captain Ironwood was sitting in my chair, looking out my window at the soot-streaked building across the alley.

I'm not ashamed to say that I gaped like a fish.

"Have a seat, Ebi," he said, gesturing to the bed as if this was his room instead of mine. I sat, and the springs performed their customary symphony of squeaks.

"Did you have a nice night?" Ironwood asked, nodding to the shoes hanging around my neck.

"Sir- uh."

If I remember right, my plan had been to say "I can explain," but I could think of nowhere sensible to go from there. I'd gone way beyond just chasing down a lead.

"Son," Ironwood said heavily, "I've seen agents go down this route before."

"Sir?"

"You think you can save them, but you can't," the captain told me. "You'll never get through to them with persuasion. That's why the Bureau was formed. Our enforcement is key."

I tried and failed to imagine Mattie as someone who needed saving. She was breaking the law, but she hadn't struck me as a sot.

"I'm not here to tell you what to do in your off time," Ironwood continued, "as long as it doesn't affect your work. But I will tell you that I cannot offer you another advance. And if you can't keep up at the Bureau, there will be consequences. What you do next is up to you." He stood and brushed off his trousers, then walked out of my room. When he closed the door, it was as if he'd never been there at all.

So I had a choice to make. Whatever he'd said, I didn't quite believe Ironwood would be pleased if I kept going to the Kiwi. And I needed the Bureau job more than ever now that I was in a hole every month.

One last time, I told myself. I'd go one last time.

I could hardly look Ironwood in the face at the Bureau that day. As soon as our work was done, I raced back to the lodging house for my good suit. I'd managed to forget all about the hole in my shoe, but I didn't have the money to replace the sole anyway. I hoofed it to the Kiwi, trying to avoid stepping in any more puddles.

I was later than usual, and the Kiwi was packed to the gills. I passed Ernest my coat and his tip and wandered through the tables, looking for familiar faces. I saw a few, mostly up on the dance floor already: folks who were good enough to teach me something. As I watched, the dancers whirled, and Mattie sashayed into view.

Two days in a row; that was unusual for Mattie. She was dancing with a girl I'd never seen before, a blonde in a slinky black and yellow dress. They were moving like someone had set fire to their feet, spinning close then leaping apart, their hands a blur.

Mattie had that grin on her face, the one she wore when she was about to see just how good her partner really was. She pulled the blonde close, their feet striking the floor with every beat of the drums. The air around them seemed charged, and the other dancers gave way as Mattie spun the blonde out in an arc. The blonde twisted back in as the horns blared, and Mattie dipped her so far that her hair brushed the floor.

As the final notes died away, applause broke out all over. Mattie was still grinning fiercely as she pulled the blonde upright, and the other girl draped an arm across Mattie's shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Mattie's eyes lit up, and the girl whispered something else. To my surprise, Mattie pointed in my direction. I raised a hand and Mattie waved back.

She and the blonde each took a little bow, and then Mattie went tripping off the stage to where her main squeeze was waiting. The band picked up again as the blonde selected a new partner, and I wasn't the only one with my eyes glued to the stage.

She really was a wild dancer, this new girl. She was the kind of good that makes her partner look better, but the new guy didn't have Mattie's flare, and slowly the floor filled up once more. When I lost the blonde in the crowd, I turned back to the bar, looking for someone to take the next dance, and caught Mattie's eye.

She beckoned me over, a grin still eating up her face.

"Shamrock!" she called. "I'm glad you're here!"

"You never been glad to see me and my two left feet before."

She laughed her clear bell laugh.

"Honey, you're no dead hoofer anymore," she said. "Somebody taught you well."

"Seems like I've still got a lot to learn," I said, nodding to the dance floor. "That was some show you put on."

"Well you're gonna have to find someone else to teach you now," Mattie replied. "This'll be my last night at the Kiwi."

I couldn't imagine going to the Kiwi without seeing Mattie every week; not that I was planning on going back again, of course.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I can't say, sugar," Mattie whispered conspiratorially, her voice just loud enough to carry over the music. "It's all very hush hush."

I put a hand on her shoulder - she was making me nervous.

"You're not in danger here, are you?"

Her surprise was written all over her face, and that was a relief.

"Of course not! But there comes a time when a gal's gotta move on to better things," she said, nudging me with her shoulder. "I put in a good word for you, Shamrock."

So yeah, I was pretty slow on the uptake. But as Mattie did a happy little twirl, it finally clicked.

She'd been invited to the Confessional.

All those nights at the Kiwi, and I finally had a proper lead.

I couldn't just ask Mattie about it; she'd be instantly suspicious. But the blonde was still on the dance floor.

I bid Mattie a hasty farewell, hotfooting it over to the stage. The band was plunging into a new song, and I arrived just in time to grab a partner, a fella I'd danced with a few times before. He was happy to let me lead, and I pushed us towards the centre of the floor, my eyes peeled for the blonde.

I was dancing distracted, my heart in my throat. If she'd vanished, I might have lost my only chance. But I wasn't too late, and by the time the song ended, I'd sidled us up next to her and her partner.

I wasn't alone; folks were lining up to dance with her. Her gaze was captivating as she surveyed us with those striking violet eyes. I've never seen another girl with eyes like that, not before or since. Even yours, ma'am.

When she spotted me, she smiled like a tiger, and pointed to me imperiously. There was a chorus of groans around us, but the blonde had made her choice - and somehow, I was it.

She was younger than she'd looked from afar: younger even than Mattie, probably. But she was as confident as they come, and she'd clearly earned it. Mattie always danced like she could feel the music inside her, but this girl danced like she was the music.

"My new friend Mattie says you're pretty good, for an old fart," she said, as we danced the opening steps of the shimmy. "Can't say I'm seeing it, yet."

I was awful nervous. The closest I'd come to feeling this way before had been my first day in the city, a farm boy out of his depth.

I couldn't afford to go rubber-kneed now. The band picked up the pace and so did I. The blonde was watching me intently, hardly seeming to pay attention to her own footwork.

Well, I wasn't going to impress her with my dancing. I'd learned a lot in the past few months, but I was no Mattie. I needed something more, so I played the only other card I had.

"Do you know Maria?"

The blonde didn't stumble, exactly, but those violet eyes got real sharp.

"There's a lot of Marias in this town," she said. We split for a moment, then drew back together.

"I met her at Alonso's." I figured it was a stupid thing to say: a classy broad like this had probably never been near a dive like Alonso's. But her eyes lit up.

"The knight in shining armour," she said merrily. "You are far less stodgy than your description."

I missed a step, and the blonde smiled that tiger smile.

"She said I should find her, if I ever got tired of my work," I said, once I'd regained my rhythm.

The blonde's gaze turned appraising. "And are you? Tired of your work?"

What else could I say? I told her yes.

When the dance was over, I felt the girl slide something into my pocket.

"You know Nikos Park?" she asked, as if there was anyone in the city who didn't. "Meet me there at midnight tomorrow. Come alone."

I wanted to ask more - Nikos Park isn't small, after all, but she'd already selected her next partner.

I stayed the rest of the night - I'd already paid the cover, after all, but the blonde didn't dance with me again. I wasn't too disappointed. The night had started bittersweet, but I finally had reason to hope again.

On my way home, I took a look at what the girl had slipped into my pocket. It was a scrap of black velvet, cut into the shape of a mask. It was one of those ones that just covers the space around your eyes, with a couple of straps to tie around the back of your head. I figured I was supposed to wear it to the meeting. If I did end up running across anyone else in the park, I was going to look like a real palooka.

The next day just couldn't go by quickly enough. I had the day off from the Bureau, which was just as well; I wouldn't have been good for much. After months of waiting, I was finally going to see the inside of the Confessional.

At long last, night fell, and I waited impatiently on the landing until I heard Ms. Perkin's old clock strike eleven.

I kept to the quieter streets as I made my way across town, though I wasn't sure who I was scared of meeting. When I reached the park, I slipped in through the east entrance, the one by the duck pond. I was still a little early, so I stepped off the path to tie on the mask. I didn't see anyone about to watch me, but there's always someone in Nikos Park.

The appointed hour ticked closer, and there was still no sign of anyone I was supposed to meet. I wasn't even sure I was in the right place.

I was so tense that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the city hall bells started ringing in midnight. I'd only just managed to relax when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

The girl was wearing a mask like mine, but it was obviously the blonde from the Kiwi, her violet eyes glinting in the dark.

"Easy there, Shamrock," she said delightedly. "I can call you Shamrock, right? Maybe Sham?"

Yeah, I'd made a mistake giving Mattie that name.

"Shamrock's fine."

"You got it, Shamrock." Her voice was entirely too loud in the nighttime quiet, but there didn't seem to be anything that could worry this girl. She led the way past the duckpond with wide swinging steps, always half a step from dancing. We plunged into the forest, heading off the path and into the valley that cut through the middle of the park.

"So what was your work, anyway?" the blonde asked, her voice floating back over her shoulder.

"What?" I'd been distracted looking to see if anyone was following us. The blonde seemed entirely too casual about this whole affair.

"What work were you doing? Maria didn't say."

"Oh, uh-" I scrambled for something sensible. "Uh, I was a lumberjack."

The blonde glanced back, framed by the trees that had inspired my answer. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Don't get many city lumberjacks," she said.

"That's why I had to get out," I replied, hating myself more with each passing second. "Not much work."

She nodded, and I could tell she didn't believe me. I wouldn't have believed me, and I was afraid she would challenge me, but she clammed up for a bit. We were coming to the track that ran through the bottom of the valley, and a few benches lined the path. One of them was occupied: a vagrant who'd found a place to sleep away from prying eyes. Or at least, that was what I assumed - the boy certainly seemed to be out like a light. But when we walked by, his eyes snapped open, one hand tensing under the scuffed coat he was using a blanket.

"Any trouble, Jaune?" the blonde asked, and he relaxed.

"Not yet," he replied. "But you should watch your back; beetles are raiding the Brass Button tonight."

The blonde flapped a hand dismissively. "I'll worry when they can get past you."

She pushed into the thickest part of the forest, the part of Nikos Park that almost tricks you into forgetting the city entirely. I didn't see any path to follow, but she never hesitated for a second as we wound further into the trees.

The shadows were deep in there; I'm not afraid of the dark, but I've got a healthy respect for it. A missed step in the dark can twist a man's ankle, or worse. But the blonde was a good guide; and before long, we'd reached the banks of the Longtooth River. And in the moonlight I could see a little log cabin perched by the water, a faded wooden sign out front still doing its best to welcome visitors.

It appeared entirely forgotten; the shingled roof had partially fallen in, and there was no path leading to its door. I've visited Nikos Park as often as any city-dweller, I'd never come across even a hint of its existence before the blonde took me there.

"In there?" I asked, and she looked at me scornfully, before leading me behind the hut to a pair of storm cellar doors.

"Wait for a count of thirty, then follow me in," she said. She rapped precisely on the doors, a careful pattern of knocks. The doors creaked open, apparently of their own accord. With a smile, the blonde dropped into the darkness, and the doors slammed shut behind her.

That count of thirty was the longest thirty seconds of my life. I was fit to burst with anticipation. When I finished my count, my hands had been chilled by the breeze blowing along the river, and I fumbled with the door handles.

The darkness below was completely impenetrable. I felt around for some kind of ladder, but there was none.

Well even my notable respect for the dark was not going to prevent me from seeing the Confessional. I sat on the doorframe, swung my legs over the side, and dropped into the darkness.

I didn't have far to fall, but the floor below was solid stone, and I was lucky not to jar my ankles. The doors above me had closed as I'd fallen, leaving me in pitch darkness.

"Hello?"

I reached out with my hands, and to my surprise they encountered fabric hanging around me, velvet by the feel of it. And then a light flickered on in front of me, a tiny electric bulb. It revealed the drapes to be a midnight black, and illuminated a bolt-studded wooden door. The door had a small rectangular slot at eye level, and as I approached, a hatch slid open, revealing a pair of piercing green eyes.

"Make your confession," a voice intoned.

I hadn't really thought they'd take the name of this place so seriously, and I hesitated. It had been a long time since I'd made Sunday Mass, and I figured I'd probably forgotten most of the words.

"Tell your secret," the voice said insistently.

Well I'd never been able to remember all the sins the church wanted confessions for, but secrets were something else. I just wasn't quite sure I wanted to tell one here in the dark. I cast about for something likely.

"I, uh, never learned to ride a bike," I said.

The electric bulb winked out, stranding me in darkness once more. All I could see was the slot in the door, the green eyes beyond faintly illuminated from below.

"Try again with something that matters," the voice suggested, an undercurrent of steel in its tone.

I knew what the voice meant; I wouldn't be allowed entry if I only confessed something trivial. My secret would have to have stakes.

I never thought as someone with a lot of secrets, but as soon as I asked myself what I didn't want to share, it was like I'd shone a spotlight on my mind. All those thoughts I'd tucked in the dark corners suddenly came to light. I picked one I figured wasn't too incriminating and told her. It wasn't like she'd know my friends from back home anyway.

Oh what, you thought I was going to tell _you_? No thank you, ma'am.

My secret must have been satisfactory, because the bulb reignited and the door swung opened, revealing a dimly lit stairway beyond. There was no sign of the owner of the green eyes, but I could hear the faintest strains of music in the distance.

After two flights, the stairs were replaced by a ladder, the cold iron biting my hands as I climbed down. The music kept getting louder and louder, until at last I faced an iron door, slick with condensation. I had a strange feeling in my gut, not too much different from the one I got just before a I just got before a raid: anticipation and fear all mixed together. I was half-expecting some other barrier to entry, but although the handle was stiff, the last door swung open without resistance.

How do I describe the Confessional. I finally understood why everyone I'd talked to had done such a terrible job describing it. It was more than a place - it was a scene, a whole atmosphere.

Look, I'll try, ok?

I don't know what I'd expected to find at the bottom of the shaft, but it certainly wasn't an underground rail station. The walls were immaculate, the words Nikos Park Station picked out in small green tiles. It was no station I'd ever seen on a map, but there was a wood-paneled train standing at the platform, lit from within by strings of electric lights. I'd emerged near the front car, where the band was in the middle of a hopping number, the notes echoing off the tiled walls. The remaining cars had been gutted, all the seats removed to make room for the dancers.

And there were dozens of them, enough that when they stamped I thought the train was likely to leap off the rails. They didn't seem bothered by the confines of the space; they wove between each other with impossible grace, their bodies twirling through the steps at a pace I'd never seen from anyone but Mattie. And each and every one of them was wearing a black velvet mask.

I'd been struck dumb by the sight. The blonde was waiting by the door of the nearest car, a smirk plastered across her face.

"You getting in or what?" she asked, and I stumbled forward. As I stepped onto the car, she waved a hand toward the back of the train, and bellowed "All aboard!"

No sooner had she followed me onto the train then the entire thing jolted, and there was a chorus of laughter from the dancers as they corrected their steps. I leaned back as the train began to rattle out of the station.

If you put my life on the line, I still wouldn't be able to tell you where the Confessional went that night. The darkness outside the train was complete, and I was entranced by the interior. The sides of each car had been hung with more black velvet, just enough to soften the echoes of the band. Any remaining space was claimed by trellises that were wound with twisting ivy and more strings of little bulbs like the ones hanging from the ceiling. It felt as if I'd stepped into a fairy court from one of my grandfather's stories.

The blonde clapped me on the shoulder.

"Bar's at the back!" she said, nearly shouting to be heard over the band. "Good luck!"

I wanted to ask her if Maria was here, but she stepped into the whirl of dancers. I stared after her, overwhelmed, until a masked woman with a smile like a shark grabbed my hand and pulled me into the twisting crowd.

I must have danced a couple steps with a dozen different people as I tried to get to the back of the train. Actually, I shouldn't say I danced; clearly everyone else had practiced dancing on a moving train, but I'd only just begun to feel confident on an ordinary dance floor. By the time I emerged from the crowd, I'd stepped on enough toes that I was starting to worry that this would be my last night at the Confessional.

The final car reminded me of a picture of a posh train I'd seen in a newspaper, all polished wood and brass. A bar ran along half its length, lined by a row of stools topped in the same black velvet as the wall hangings. They were mostly unoccupied; but for the older lady at the end of the bar, it seemed that the patrons of the Confessional preferred dancing to drinking.

I grabbed the bar like a drowning man grabs for a lifeline, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might drag me out for another dance. I needed to get my bearings.

In my desperation, I'd attracted the attention of the bartender.

"On the house," he said, sliding a glass across the bar. "You look like you could use it."

What could I say? I couldn't tell this man why I shouldn't take his drink. I took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Confessional was serving proper top-shelf stuff. No unvarnished moonshine here.

I looked up to thank him for the drink and was struck dumb for the second time that night.

Even with the mask, the bartender was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. His hair was the same midnight black as the velvet drapes, shot through with gray, and his eyes: they didn't demand attention, exactly, but once I was caught by them, I couldn't look away. They were a soft red; in the dappled shadow of the ivy they almost seemed to glow where they reflected the light.

I took another sip to cover my surprise and choked. The bartender looked alarmed, his red eyes going wide.

"I know I'm new at this, but surely someone would have told me if my drinks were that bad."

"No-" I coughed. "No it's good."

The bartender watched me skeptically, but I was saved from making any further defense when the dame who'd been sat at the end of the bar took the stool next to mine.

"I thought it was you," she said to me. "You leave my hero alone, Qrow."

The bartender - Qrow, pushed back his hair, a clearly habitual gesture that emphasized his long, elegant fingers. "Ah, so it's you I have to thank for Maria's continued patronage," he said, and I did what I am sure was a very comical double take. Maria got a chuckle out of it, at least. I hadn't recognized her beneath her mask.

"Less talking, more serving," Maria swatted Qrow on the arm. "It's like you don't even want to get better at this."

"I do pay an actual bartender," Qrow replied. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Well he's not here now," Maria grumbled. "And I need a drink."

Whoever that other bartender was, I was certainly glad he wasn't behind the bar that night. I found Qrow mesmerizing - his features had caught my attention, but his motions held it. As he mixed another cocktail for Maria, I could see the grace of a dancer in his movements, and I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.

Well, look here, I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting, but you did say you wanted to hear the whole story.

Now where was I?

I finished that first drink slowly. As I took the last sip, the train rolled to a stop in another disused station - the tiling on the walls was only half finished, exposing the black iron beams. A few people alighted onto the narrow wooden platform, waving as the train pulled away into the darkness. The echoes of the music faded as the band reached the end of their set, and the dancers packed into the back car to refresh their drinks. Qrow was quickly overwhelmed, but no one seemed to hold it against him - it was like everyone on that train was floating on champagne bubbles, as if all the cares of the outside world didn't exist.

I tried not to be too obvious in my study of Qrow. He was clearly someone important to the Confessional, and I didn't want to hurt my chances of returning. But I couldn't quite tear my eyes away. His suit was far nicer than mine, a proper set of evening tails, impeccably tailored. My checked day suit looked shabby by comparison, not least because of how often I'd worn it to the Kiwi. I found myself wishing that I'd sprung for a new tie, at least, but then I remembered the hole in my shoe, and just how much I'd had to scrape for that last Kiwi cover charge.

When the band struck up again, the crowd flowed away as quickly as they'd come, and Qrow offered me another drink. The price was more reasonable than I expected, but I had no idea where I'd be at the end of the night; I might need what money I had left to take a proper train home. As I looked regretfully into the bottom of my glass, Maria elbowed me in the side.

"So, are you done with the Bureau?"

She said it far more loudly than I was comfortable with, and I tore my gaze away from Qrow to glare at her.

"Don't worry, boy," she cackled. "All secrets are safe in the Confessional."

I ignored her laughter and looked down into my glass again. I wasn't sure I could go back to the Bureau after this. I'd lost any chance of pretending that the search for the Confessional was anything but a personal obsession. And having found it at last, I didn't think I could give it up easily. Being on this train, rattling through unknown darkness - it was like I'd entered another world. When I'd come to the city, I'd expected experiences like this around every corner and been quickly disappointed. The Confessional actually lived up to the dream, so closely that I began to wonder if I was really there at all.

No, I already knew I'd be coming back to the Confessional. There was other work in the city - I'd finish out my month with the Bureau, and figure out something else.

Maria didn't seem put off by my lack of an answer to her question. She slammed back her drink and knocked her glass against the bar to summon another.

"Strapping lad like you, you're not going to dance?" she asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at the swaying line of cars that led to the front of the train. I did want to join the throng, but my dancing was definitely not up to the challenge.

"I don't have a partner," I said, and we both knew it was a weak excuse.

"Well don't look at me, I'm downright elevated." She rapped her glass on the bar once more, and finally succeeded in pulling Qrow from the conversation he'd been having with a patron at the end of the bar.

"What?" he demanded, and even his annoyance was attractive.

"Boy needs a partner!"

Qrow threw up his hands.

"Maria, I'm glad your commitment to irritating me keeps you in here buying drinks, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't drag other customers into it."

"Try to look even more pathetic," Maria hissed to me, then turned back to holler down the bar. "It's his first night! It's your responsibility to show him a good time!"

"I am working!" Qrow shouted back, outraged.

"Hardly," Maria scoffed. "I could do better. In fact, I will, if it gets you out from behind that bar."

Qrow put the glass he'd been cleaning back behind the rail and stalked over to point a finger in Maria's face. I hadn't known her long, but our brief acquaintance had convinced me this was a brave move on his part.

"I'm not paying you," he told her.

"I'll pay myself in free drinks," she retorted.

"You'll run me out of business," Qrow said, looking suddenly haunted.

"One dance," Maria insisted. "Then you can come back here and I'll show you how it's done."

I wished she'd clam up. I'd never needed help finding a partner before. Besides, I wanted some practice moving on the train before dancing with Qrow. But I wasn't given much of a choice. Qrow gave Maria a hard look, the threat in it seemingly only partially feigned, before walking back to the end of the car to get out from behind the bar.

"A break'll be good for him," Maria said serenely, patting my arm. "And I've always been a good judge of character."

"Thank you," I replied stiffly, and she let out a burst of her cackling laughter. Qrow eyed this exchange suspiciously, but he was perfectly polite as he offered me a hand.

"Sorry about Maria," he said, as he led me out of the back car. "She's not usually so-" he paused, searching for the right word, but didn't seem to find it. "I hope you've enjoyed your time in the Confessional so far."

"It's wonderful." I probably sounded like a total bumpkin, but it was the truth. The music floating down the train was buoying me up, and I felt so light on my feet that dancing with Qrow wasn't quite the intimidating proposition it had been a few minutes ago.

I like to fancy that it was my words that made him smile. He moved to settle his free hand on my shoulder just as I did the same, and a nervous chuckle escaped me.

"You better lead," I said. "I haven't quite got the hang of this place yet."

"It's been a while," he confessed, as the music picked up and we took our first few steps. I wasn't sure whether he meant the leading or the dancing in general; he was doing both handily. He was so nimble that he evaded my missteps with ease, and he led us easily through the other dancers.

"Your work for the club keeps you busy?"

"You could say that," he said. "The Confessional has a way of taking over your life."

"So I've heard," I replied. "People talk about this place like it's holy."

Qrow laughed, and the mellifluous sound of it warmed me all the way to my toes.

"Nothing further from it. But even the most unholy places require a lot of work to keep running."

"Runs better than most churches anyway, the way I hear it. Is it true that you've never been raided?"

"Who's asking?" Qrow's eyes caught mine, flashing with some emotion I couldn't read. "Is it Shamrock of the Kiwi Club? Or Agent Clover Ebi of the Bureau of Prohibition?"

I stumbled and he pulled away, letting me recover on my own.

"You know?"

"I don't invite just anyone into my home," Qrow said, stepping closer. "And you can be damn sure I find out everything about them first. Especially if they've ever been in contact with a beetle."

"So why did you let me in?" I asked. The music had stopped, but I couldn't have said whether it was because the song had ended or because of an unspoken signal from Qrow. In the corner of my eye, I could see some of the other dancers watching us.

Qrow shrugged. "Maria vouched for you. She said you'd want to come for yourself, not to appease your masters."

"She's right," I said quickly. "No one knows I'm here."

"That better be true," Qrow said, and he took another step toward me. "Because it's also true that the Confessional has never been raided, and I certainly don't rely on luck to keep this place safe."

As if on cue, the music swelled once more, and he pulled me back into the dance as if nothing had happened. I fumbled far more of my steps, but Qrow kept his feet safely out of reach.

"Is - is that why it's the Confessional?" I asked, trying to regain my balance. "Why I had to give a secret to get in? So you'd have something to use against me?"

"Hell, I don't even know those secrets," Qrow said easily. "But my bouncer's methods haven't let me down yet."

I thought of what I'd confessed, up there in the dark. It had felt momentous, and this man was just dismissing it.

"Why even have the secrets at all? Why not an ordinary cover charge?"

"My bouncer told me once," he said thoughtfully, "that everyone wants to tell their secrets. They're just waiting for someone to ask."

The music was picking up speed, but I still found myself pondering his words. Uncomfortable as my confession had been, it had felt a worthy sacrifice to access this place.

"And besides," Qrow continued, hardly even out of breath, "I find that anyone willing to share a secret to enter is unlikely to rat us out." His gaze met mine, and he smirked. "That, Mr. Ebi, is how I really know I can trust you. I've learned better than to rely on what people tell me to my face."

I would have protested my innocence again, possibly fatally, but the train lurched and I staggered into him. He caught me easily, holding me steady as the car rattled around a sharp bend in the tracks. This was closer than dancing; I could smell his cologne, and feel the sleek material of his tailcoat against my cheek.

I lingered a little longer than was proper, and upon realizing this, straightened up with a cough.

"For someone who says he's too busy to dance, you really are an excellent partner," I said.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Ebi." He pushed my hand back to his shoulder. "Care for another?"

How could I say no? He had a magnetism that went beyond this haven he'd created to rumble under the streets of the city. I was drawn to him just as I'd been drawn to the Confessional.

One dance turned into two, then three, and we were well into a fourth when the blonde I'd met at the Kiwi wove through the crowd to tap Qrow's shoulder.

"We got trouble," she said. "Jaune saw a regular platoon of beetles come down into the park, not five minutes after we pulled out."

Qrow glanced sharply at me, and I shook my head frantically. My mind was racing. It could not be a coincidence, that the beetles should find the entrance to this place today. But I had no way to prove my innocence.

The blonde hadn't been too loud, but a crop of whispers was growing up around us, spreading up and down the train.

Qrow looked at me and sighed.

"I hoped you enjoyed the evening while it lasted, agent," he said coldly. "It seems Maria's judgement isn't infallible."

"Wait-" I said, but he pulled away, leaving me stranded in the crowd. A moment later the music sputtered out, and the dancing staggered to a halt. Qrow's voice echoed down from the front of the train.

"Folks, our service will be ending early tonight," he said. "The next stop will be our terminal station."

A chorus of disappointed groans rippled through the train, which was already beginning to slow. I fought my way through the throng to the front car, where Qrow was standing near the train doors.

"Please," I said. "This isn't my fault."

He didn't even look at me; he simply turned and began fiddling with the switchbox on the wall of the train. One by one, the strings of electric bulbs began to go out.

But they were no longer the only source of light. The Confessional was pulling into the station and there were already people on the platform, their helmeted heads glinting in the light of their lanterns.

I could see horror march across Qrow's face, but he squared his shoulders and reached for the doors.

"Wait," I hissed, grabbing his arm. He gave me a look of pure vitriol, but I didn't care. I'd seen some familiar faces on the platform. We didn't have time to argue about a course of action. "Listen, I didn't do this, but I can fix it. Just get the train out of here."

Before Qrow could stop me, I slid the doors open and jumped out of the train. I couldn't let the Bureau take the Confessional down, you see. Even if I could never go back to it myself, I had to know that there was magic like that somewhere in the city.

The beetles had gathered at the front of the platform, batons at the ready, and I ran at them just as fast as I was able.

"Wait!" I shouted.

The agent at the head of the pack hesitated, turning to face me. I recognized her, but it was clear she didn't recognize me.

"I'm Agent Ebi!" I said breathlessly, skidding to a stop in front of her.

We'd run a raid or two together - her name was Marge or Maggie or something like that. I was starting to worry she wouldn't remember me at all, but at last her hostile expression was replaced by confusion.

"We're running an operation," she said, a little bewildered. But she was paying attention to me, and that was all I wanted. I could hear the rattling of the train getting louder behind me as it accelerated.

"Yes," I replied. In a minute I was going to have to shout to be heard, but in a minute the train would clear the station anyway. "I'm here to help."

"But you-" I'm sure she would have called out my blatant lie, but at that moment she glanced over my shoulder and saw that the train was picking up speed.

As the front car began to rumble past us, a beetle lashed out with her truncheon and managed to shatter a window. Another lunged toward the doors, still open from my hasty exit. I abandoned my doomed attempt at distraction and tackled him down to the platform, fouling the legs of another who'd tried to follow his comrade.

The last thing I saw before I went down in a heap of beetles was Qrow's face as he leaned through the door. There was a thoughtful expression on his face; he met my eyes and nodded. And then the Confessional began pulling out of the station and he was gone.

So there you have it, ma'am. Honourable Agent Ebi of the Bureau of Prohibition was summarily fired and spent a month in the big house. Didn't even get to send that last letter to my mother, though she sent me a few. Disappointed to say the least, but she's saved every penny she got from me, and she hasn't starved yet.

She wasn't the only person to write me while I was cooling my heels in prison. I got one other letter - not delivered by the prison warden, but slipped through the bars one night while I slept. I was lucky to find it before my cellmate woke up. The envelope had neither address nor postmark, but it was bulging, and when I slit it open, I found a black velvet mask. Tucked into the cloth was a scrap of paper that read 'Your invitation still stands - Q'.

When I got that letter, I knew it had all been worth it. My mother still doesn't understand why I did it. Neither did Captain Ironwood, during his solitary visit. His disappointment was an even bigger burden than my mother's. I never wanted to disappoint anyone. But I found magic on that train, the kind you don't see in the city anymore. And I succeeded - the Bureau didn't catch the Confessional. No one knows where it is now; least of all me. I've been back to Nikos Park a few times, but the stormcellar doors of the hut near the river are locked down tight. Still, I gotta believe the Confessional is still out there, somewhere. And I know one day I'll find it, even if I have to spend all my days searching. I'll visit every blind pig in the city until I hear a hint of it again.

But that's it, the whole sordid tale of why I'm sitting in this dive drinking with you. Did it satisfy you? It's not too usual that someone asks to hear your story and means it. But I guess you're not a usual dame.

You know what, this place is all dried up. I'm getting out of here.

Oh, you know a place nearby? Real underground, you say?

Then by all means, lead on.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fastest I've ever written 10,000 words. Huge thanks to [alphaparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaparrot) and [delta_altair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_altair) for reading and providing feedback on this work!


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